Anne Barbour (31 page)

Hilary hurried toward a light that shone dimly inside the tower. The source was Cyrus’s lantern, which he had lit upon struggling to his feet. He lifted it high in the air to examine the interior of the tower. After a moment, he let out a whoop and performed an impromptu jig.

“It worked!” he sang, capering like a demented stork. “It really worked. I did it! I brought lightning down out of the clouds!” He paused and looked around once more. His voice dropped to a whisper. “And—and, by God, the soldier is gone! James, your theory must have been right. He
was—”

“Yes, yes,” interrupted James. “He was from the past, and now he’s been returned—safe and sound, I trust. But what about Cheeke?”

“Eh?” asked Cyrus blankly.

“Did you not see him? Although, I must say, it happened so quickly, perhaps I imagined—”

“No,” cried Hilary. “I saw him, too. He ran in and tried to disconnect the wire. Jasper jumped up on him. But he’s not here now. Good Lord,” she gasped in dawning horror. “Do you suppose—”

“I saw him, too!” interrupted Robert excitedly. “He was trying to keep Rufus from leaving! Jasper leaped at him and pushed him, practically into Rufus’ arms. When the lightning struck, Cheeke must simply have been swept along for the ride.”

James uttered a small, rusty chuckle, and as the others gaped at him in surprise, the chuckle grew to a broad laugh and then a belly-wrenching guffaw. In a moment, as the implications of what had just happened surged through her mind, Hilary, too, began to laugh. A few seconds later, Robert joined in. James moved to Hilary’s side and without thinking, encircled her with one arm. He ruffled Jasper’s ears vigorously with the other.

“Jasper, I don’t know why you weren’t sent backward in time as well, but I’m glad you’re still with us. You are a pearl among canines and I promise you, you shall have steak every day for the rest of your life, courtesy of one grateful antiquary.”

He turned to laugh down into Hilary’s face, but a moment later, his face closed. He dropped his arm and stepped abruptly away. Hilary’s heart sank. Even in this moment of exhilaration and the release of pent-up tension, James had not forgotten his hostility. The constraint between them seemed a physical presence and she put a hand up in a gesture of defeat.

“Well, that’s that, then,” declared Cyrus. “James, may I beg a bed at your house for the night? It’s a bit late to start back to Gloucester, and I want to begin writing up my notes while the whole thing is still fresh in my mind.”

“You may have a bed, old friend, indeed you may have unto half my kingdom. You have not only restored one of the emperor’s finest to his place in time, but you have rid me of the curse of my life.”

He began to laugh again. “I do hope Mordecai made the trip in one piece. I wonder how he will fare in second-century Britain?”

The next moment, as he intercepted the answering mirth in Hilary’s eyes, once again the laughter died from his own. “We will, of course, escort Lady Hilary back to her home.” He began to move toward the wagon, but Robert interposed himself in his path.

“That won’t be necessary, sir. It appears that Mr. Cheeke left us a gift.” He gestured to the showy curricle that stood some distance from the wagon. “I do not believe he will have any further use for it, so you may as well appropriate it. Mr. Bender and I will make our way to Goodhurst in the wagon.”

“Oh, no,” gasped Hilary. “That is—I don’t think—”

“Cheeke’s curricle will serve nicely,” interrupted James, a light in his eyes that Hilary could not interpret.

Watching her, James felt his heart leap. He had not expected an opportunity to be alone with Hilary. The ride to Whiteleaves would not take long, but he intended to make every moment count. First of all, he must make Hilary forgive him. After that—well, he would not press his suit, of course, for it was much too soon. Indeed, the thought of doing so caused his stomach to drop to a place somewhere below his knees. No, he would behave in a logical manner. He would approach her gently, with circumspection. Time enough to speak of love—weeks from now—when he had put in some much-needed spadework.

He eyed her doubtfully. She did not seem overjoyed at the prospect of the short journey home with him. He thought back to that split second when his world had tumbled about his ears. How could he have been so stupid, even for a moment?

Judging from Hilary’s reaction in the Tapestry Room, his feelings of betrayal and humiliation must have been writ large on his face. What must she think of him? His first move in his campaign to win her heart must be to assure her that, except for that one small flicker of doubt, his faith in her had never wavered.

His heart fell. One flicker of doubt? It was like asking her to overlook a swift stab to the heart.

But he must make her forgive him, and when he did, he would set out to transform himself from the scholarly, acid-tongued pedant with whom she had become accustomed to a dashing, articulate, sincere, heart-pierced swain. Lord, he didn’t even know anyone like that, let alone filling the bill himself. He staggered slightly, almost overcome by the panic that swept over him. He could face a room full of academicians with complete aplomb, but the thought of conveying his feelings—feelings he had never experienced before, to one, peppery female left him weak with fear.

Pinning what he hoped was an engaging smile to his lips, he handed Hilary into the curricle. Jasper fell into place behind them and they started off.

Hilary peered at him in the dim lantern light. She did
not
want to drive to Whiteleaves with James. She could not bear another second of his contempt, though she was determined not to offer excuses for a nonexistent transgression. From his expression, it was obvious that he was still very angry. In fact if— She paused in her reflections. Good heavens, what was the matter with him? What she had taken for anger had looked more like some sort of grimace, as though he had just bitten into a peach to discover half of a large, disgusting bug there.

They rode in silence for some minutes until at last, Hilary said tentatively, “I expect the ball is still going on. It would probably be better if we enter through the rear of the house.”

“Yes.”

The conversation, such as it was, lagged.

James said something then, of which Hilary could only discern the words, “Your hair.”

“My hair? What about it?” she asked, puzzled.

James cleared his throat. “It—it looks very nice tonight. As it always does,” he added hastily.

Hilary stared at him in blank incomprehension. She knew that in the darkness, it must be impossible to see her hair, which in any event must look like a fox fur left out in the weather too long. What in the world was he doing talking about her hair?

At her continued silence, James gulped audibly. “I liked your costume tonight, too. It was very—pretty.”

At this, Hilary swung about in her seat to face him.

“James, what on earth is the matter with you? Whatever are you nattering on about?”

There was a moment’s pause before James replied with great dignity and some irritation, “I am trying to do the pretty, devil take it.”

If Hilary had not been so astonished, she would have laughed aloud. The words, “empty blandishments,” and the name, “James Wincanon” could hardly be uttered in the same sentence, yet here he was, in all his eminent scholarliness, spouting absurd flattery. The question was, of course, why?

“Why?” she asked baldly.

In response, James drew the curricle to the side of the lane and turned to face her. He stared at her for a long moment, searching her face in the moonlight.

“Because,” he said at last, “I suppose I am trying to make amends. And not doing very well at it,” he added.

“Amends?” She held her breath. Surely she had not imagined the condemnation she’d read in his face in the Tapestry Room. But—amends?

Oh Lord, thought James. Now, he was in for it. He had not meant to bring up the Tapestry Room fiasco. At least not until he had softened Hilary in a suitable manner.

With which he was having little success, so far.

Unthinking, he grasped both her hands in his. “Yes, amends. I—I did not behave well when your father and the others burst into the room. When Cheeke spewed his unconscionable lies about you, I should have flattened him out and pushed him through the carpet.”

“His lies?” Hilary’s voice quavered almost undetectably.

“Well, of course!” exclaimed James, all righteous indignation. “You—you don’t think I believed you responsible for our—our compromising situation, do you?”

She said nothing, but gazed at him with a clear, direct stare.

James squirmed.

“You’re not going to let me wriggle out of this, are you?”

“No—though if truth be told, I am at a loss to understand just what it is you’re trying to wriggle out of.” She lifted her brows questioningly, her gaze becoming almost painfully intense.

“The fact that I—I betrayed you,” he blurted. “God, I almost wish I could be other than honest with you. It sickens me to admit it, but I did—just for a moment—believe you had arranged the whole situation. I believed it because I wanted to,” he added painfully.

“You—you
wanted
to?” The anguished disbelief in her voice made him flinch.

James opened his mouth, and closed it again abruptly. His grip on her hands tightened spasmodically. At last, he spoke in a strained voice.

“You may not have noticed it, but I am rather prideful.”

Hilary blessed the darkness that helped conceal her confusion. “Yes,” she gulped, “I had noticed that.”

He released one of her hands to run it through his hair. The gesture did nothing to improve his appearance, which, to put it kindly, resembled that of a distraught owl.

“I don’t know if I can explain this, Hilary—my dearest Hilary— but I had some rather deeply imbedded notions concerning the female sex, and—”

Hilary, whose heart during this dialogue had threatened to jump from her breast, calmed suddenly. A mounting sensation that she only vaguely recognized as joy, filled her being. From the stillness of the night around them, from the damp, earthy scent of the forest—from the spirit of the wood itself, she seemed to draw an ancient feminine knowledge that confirmed the growing certainty that grew within her like a newly nourished plant.

“And”—she interrupted gently, her breath suspending itself somewhere between her soul and her life itself—”you could not allow yourself to believe that a woman could desire nothing from you but your—your friendship.”

“Oh, the devil with my friendship,” he blurted angrily. “My God, Hilary, it took me long enough to realize it, but I fell in love with you, and if you want to know the truth, it terrified me.”

“I know,” Hilary replied gently, lifting her hand to smooth a tendril of brown hair that had fallen across his forehead. She had no idea from what well of inner cognition her surety sprang, but it was as though someone whispered to her of an ancient power. A sensual song of infinite, eternal wisdom swelled within her, dispelling all doubt with a sort of glorious benediction. “And now?”

“And now,” James breathed hoarsely, “I seem to be consumed by the most appallingly primitive desire to drag you by the hair into my cave and keep you there for the rest of our lives and have at least seven children with you.”

Smiling, Hilary lifted her face. “I must say that sounds like a most appealing program,” she whispered, listening to herself in some astonishment.

James gaped at her as though in equal surprise, but lost no time in gathering her into an embrace that drove the breath from her. He bent to cover her mouth with his in a kiss that was searching and urgent and demanding. A searing heat leaped from that contact and spread through her like a summer storm sweeping through a meadow. She arched into him, reveling in the feel of him and the scent of him, that had now become as familiar and necessary to her as the air she breathed.

She became aware of the mounting fire in her blood. She moved within his arms to mold herself even more tightly to his lean strength. Abruptly, James drew back from her, just enough so that he could look into her face.

“Lord.” He laughed shakily. “I had not planned to do this for a month, at least. I planned a sedate, logical, step-by-step courtship.”

“Ah, you—you scientist, you,” sighed Hilary from within the curve of his arm. Then—“Courtship? I thought perhaps this was a seduction.”

“Mm,” replied James, his fingers straying to the laces at her bodice. “What would give you that idea? You think me a cad, then? A shameless ravisher of virgins?”

“You mean you’re not?” asked Hilary allowing a tinge of disappointment to creep into her tone. James scattered butterfly kisses on her rain-washed cheeks.

“All in good time, you shameless hussy. First we will stand up together to plight our troth in a very large church, in front of a very large group of family and friends. Then we’ll see about ravishment and seduction.” His demeanor changed abruptly to one of anxious solemnity. “You are going to marry me, aren’t you?”

“Yes, my dearest love. As soon as ever such a ceremony can be arranged.”

James smiled and availed himself once more of her lips. “I expect I shall be obliged to seek out your father when we get to Whiteleaves.”

“He will fall on your neck.”

“I suppose. It can’t have been easy watching one’s daughter decline into a meddling, unlovable old spinster. He will no doubt be grateful to me for taking you off his hands.”

“I am not old!” Hilary cried indignantly.

“Do not argue with your affianced husband,” returned James primly. “And with all that perfectly frightful red hair to boot,” he murmured hoarsely, his lips returning to hers to smother a squeak of protest.

For some moments, nothing was heard except the chorale of the night, accompanied by the benign rustle of the ancient oaks that surrounded them and Jasper’s investigative snuffles as he patrolled the area.

At last James released Hilary. “I think,” he said unsteadily, “we’d best be on our way—before I make a wife of you ahead of the calendar.”

As the curricle began to move forward once more, Hilary murmured, “I wish Rufus could have known about—about us. I think he would have been pleased.”